


Just This

by knockout_mouse



Series: The Summer Soldier and His Boyfriend [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America Sam Wilson, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Islands, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Late Night Conversations, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sam Wilson Feels, Sleepy Cuddles, Summer Vacation, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockout_mouse/pseuds/knockout_mouse
Summary: Sam and Bucky finally get to relax on a tropical island after all the stuff they've been through, and in the process grow closer to each other. Lots of feelings and cuddling within.





	Just This

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of The Adult Pool, set on a tropical island where some Avengers are having a totally-not-vacation mission. You don't have to read the first part but I suppose it could give some context if you need it. 
> 
> There's mentions of a few other characters but I didn't tag them because they are only briefly mentioned (it's Peter, Shuri, and a few other Avengers on the island with them). 
> 
> Enjoy! And I love kudos and comments, they make my day!

It’s another quiet night, a time both of them have begun to look forward to, when Sam finds Bucky sitting on their bungalow porch, staring out at the black stretch of ocean. Farther away, the other Avengers on this not-vacation mission have gathered around a bonfire and started pouring drinks. Their laughter echoes across the dunes. 

“Hey, you good?” Sam walks over to where he sits, joining him in his thousand-yard stare. Shyly, Bucky eventually leans his head onto Sam’s shoulder, still skittish about physical contact, but now finally allowing himself to settle comfortably into their shared silence. 

“It’s okay, you know,” Sam says, turning his head slightly, “It’s okay to not be okay.”

Bucky frowns, “You don’t have to be my therapist.”

“I know.” Sam huffs a smile, “And I’m not. It’d be unprofessional — plus I only do group therapy.”

“Guess we could always round up the crew and see who has the most traumatic backstory.” Bucky mumbles. Sam laughs, and nudges Bucky off his shoulder so he can turn to look at him.

“I’m not here as a therapist. I’m here as a friend. So… I’m asking, do you need someone to talk with, listen to you, or just someone to cuddle with?” Sam asks, staring openly at Bucky, his dark brown eyes deep and warm. 

Nobody has ever asked to cuddle with Bucky. It’s not that he’s never done it; he and Steve used to huddle together for warmth during long winter nights. But no one has ever asked. No one’s ever even considered the possibility that a boy might actually need to be comforted. 

It shouldn’t make him cry. But it does anyway, shocking Bucky into silence as he feels silent tears trickle down his cheeks.

Sam’s shoulders slump, and he leans back, “Or if you want to be alone, I can do that too.”

Bucky shakes his head rapidly, and pushes himself into Sam’s arms before he can second-guess himself. Perhaps, before they’d been dusted, he would’ve preferred silence and solitude, but not anymore. At some point, the life of a hermit in Wakanda had gotten to him. No one had touched him in any way beyond professional for so, so long… 

Bucky presses further into Sam’s arms, which gently wrap around him. If Bucky doesn’t think about it too much, he can just have this. He can close his eyes and focus on the emotion that flutters inside his chest. 

They sit there for several minutes, letting the sound of the wind and waves wash over them, shadows flickering under the cast of the nearby tiki torches. Somewhere off in the trees, a red and blue blur swings through the branches, while Shuri’s laughter drifts into the humming summer night. Further down the beach, silhouettes chat around the fire, shouting bets on who can crush the most cans with their forehead. And for the first time in decades, Bucky thinks he can remember peace.

“When I was a kid… I think… I think we used to sit out on the fire escape in the evenings.” Bucky says, still feeling like he’s referring to another person when he talks about his former self, “We’d turn on the radio and Steve would draw with the few colored pencils he saved up for. He’d draw, like… mountains… and rainforests. Basically anything that we’d never seen outside of picture books. And I’d make up stories about us going to these far off places.”

His voice trails off, as does the memory. He wishes he could remember more from those idle childhood days, but they wash away before he can even trace their shape. He stares off into the cocoon of darkness, unsure of what to say next.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam breathes a deep sigh, “Yeah, I remember me and my sisters used to play pretend as kids too. We had this field near our house, so we’d…” Bucky feels a grin stretch across Sam’s face, “We were so dumb. We’d run through this grass that was like, shoulder-high, kicking up fireflies and trying to catch them. God knows what kind’ve snakes and shit were in that field.”

“So the chaotic dumbassery started early then huh?”

Sam elbows Bucky in the side, “Yeah well, Steve already told me about Coney Island so pot meet kettle.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, mostly because he’s tired of talking, but also because it helps detract from the stupid grin on his face. He turns to face out towards the ocean, gaze drifting away again. 

“... You should go and see them.”

“Hmm?” Sam rests his chin on Bucky’s head.

“Your sisters. You should go see them.”

He feels Sam smile, “I did, right after we came back, remember?”

“Yeah, I know I just… you should spend as much time with ‘em as you can,” Bucky’s voice lowers to a mumble.

Sam tightens his hug around Bucky’s shoulders, “You miss them?”

A long silence. Then, a small reply, “Yes.”

They say nothing after that, Sam holding Bucky’s silently shaking body as they both stare out towards the sea and remember lost voices. The wind tangles a wooden chime clinking above their heads, and the distant waves crash on the beach. Eventually the distant bonfire goes out, and the two retreat to their bed, wrapping around each other and letting the tides of sleep take them away.

\------------------------------

Sam opens his eyes to a golden sunrise, shafts of light blinking through the blinds and tumbling across Bucky’s splayed hair. It’s perfect.  _ He’s perfect _ . Sam can’t help but smile, mentally stuck between wanting to run his fingers through that hair, or loudly imitate Bucky’s snoring till he wakes up and swats at him with a pillow. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s eyes drift open before he can decide, and Bucky squints up at him sleepily. He then snuffles and buries his head into the crook of Sam’s neck, mumbling a good morning. Sam chuckles, enveloping his boyfriend with warm arms, and Bucky hums contentedly. 

They stay this way for several minutes, Sam staring down at Bucky as he falls back asleep, his breath small puffs against Sam’s neck. Sam wants to stay this way longer, possibly forever, but his stomach suddenly gives a rumbly complaint. He sighs and starts to carefully move his legs off the bed.

Bucky wakes just enough to realize Sam is rolling out of bed, and instinctively reaches for him, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, “Nooooo, don’t go. You’re warm.”

Sam chuckles, “I gotta get up and make breakfast, baby.”

Bucky pouts, making sure Sam sees it, “Cereal and toast doesn’t count as breakfast.”

“Oh? I’m sorry, should I have assumed you take a full English?”

If he wasn’t half-awake Bucky would probably roll his eyes, but instead a dumb grin slides across his face, “Whatever. Just leave some orange juice for me.”

He lifts his arm from Sam’s waist, but Sam continues to sit on the bed, hand lingering on Bucky’s shoulder, “How about some bacon? It’s the turkey kind.”

Now Bucky does consciously grin, “Read my mind, babe.” He then huffs and burrows under the covers again, attempting to retain what little heat is still left from where Sam was sleeping. 

Sam can’t help a fond smile as he quietly leaves the bedroom, strolling into the kitchen. 

There’s one thing he’s pretty sure has remained constant from before Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier. On one particularly late night, after many rounds of alcohol and a quickly aborted game of never-have-I-ever, Bucky had admitted to Sam that he’d been feeling a strange sort of connection to Judaism. In Romania, he’d wandered past a temple that was celebrating Purim. He couldn’t remember being very religious before the war, but deep-seated familiarity had led him through the doors anyway. 

“I don’t know if I’m just imagining things,” Bucky had slurred, “Maybe I’m just looking for a part of my identity that’s never existed. I can’t remember even keeping kosher, or spending Shabbat with my family. I think maybe I remember celebrating Hanukkah once…” his words trail off, ducking his head and coughing up a laugh, “I’ve been too afraid to ask Steve about it. What if these are more false memories? What if I’m making this into something it isn’t?”

Sam didn’t know how to answer that, then or now. Bucky did eventually ask Steve, and Steve gave a non-committal answer about Bucky’s family being ethnically Jewish but not really practicing due to the rising antisemitism of the 1930s.  _ “It’s up to you, Buck. If that’s what helps connect you to your past, I’ll gladly support you.” _ he’d said, in the same way Sam’s mom had been politely supportive once Sam came out to her as bi. She did support him. She  _ did _ . But she never quite embraced him, and as much as Sam hates to admit it, there is a difference. 

He supposes he and every other black kid growing up in America had at some point poured over a Captain America comic, seen Gabe Jones being a proud part of the Howlies, and wanted to believe that Captain America would always defend and care for the oppressed, or at least more than anybody else in his backwards era. But when Steve didn’t return from time travel, a small bit of a much younger Sam had been crushed. The Steve he’d known before the Snap wouldn’t have willingly chosen to go back to a time of segregation and homophobia…  _ would he? _

Sam lets out a low sigh. Whatever reason Steve had chosen to return to the past, that was his choice. Perhaps that Captain America hadn’t turned out to be the hero a younger Sam needed, but the current one sure as hell would be.

“Babe? I think you’re burning something.” Bucky peeks out from the bedroom. Sure enough, the bacon has turned a bit too crispy. Sam sighs and tosses those into the trash, putting new strips on. He suddenly feels a cool metal hand rest on his abdomen.

“You okay?” Bucky murmurs, staring down at the popping turkey bacon. 

Sam shrugs lightly, “Just got lost in my thoughts.” he flips over a slice, “I’m glad we talked last night. That you trust me enough to talk about stuff.”

Bucky returns the shrug but smiles, “Yeah. Just don’t let it get to your big head.”

“Hey now, remember who’s making breakfast here.” Sam grins. Bucky steps back then, and begins to rub circles into Sam’s shoulders.

“How did you know I like back rubs?” Sam asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining.” He emphasizes the last part by leaning into Bucky’s touch.

“You shows signs of back pain after you spend too many hours flying in the Falcon suit.” Bucky says, rubbing up and down Sam’s back and eliciting a contented hum. He only stops to reach around and switch off the stove as the bacon finishes. He then leads them over to the couch, their legs tangling together naturally as they eat their breakfast. 

“What about you?” Sam asks when he finishes, setting their plates aside.

Bucky peers up at him, “Hmm?”

“I don’t have quite the same powers of observation,” Sam says, “You knew I liked back rubs, but I don’t know what you like.”

Bucky blushes, a feat in and of itself, and lets his fingers drift down to meet Sam’s. His voice is small when he finally speaks. “I’m not really… used to this whole touch thing. I don’t really know what I like or don’t. Maybe… my head?” he glances at Sam with a worried look.

But Sam only smiles with warm eyes and gently pulls Bucky back onto his lap, fingers coming up to cup the back of Bucky’s head. When Bucky settles, he begins to run his fingers through the long hair, and Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, a small smile settling into place as his body seems to melt into Sam’s touch.

“Thank you.” he whispers, voice bathed in the warmth of the sun. And maybe if Sam doesn’t think about it too much, if he just focuses on the two of them right here in the moment, how far they’ve managed to make it together, he can just have this. 

They can just have each other.


End file.
